wet
by ArcherHana
Summary: Phil gets a surprise visit.


**_Wet_**

* * *

He opened the door, eyebrows rising from the beautiful – though a bit concerning – sight in front of him.

He ushered her in, quickly, one hand resting on her shoulder. His fingers became wet. It must be very bad weather outside. He could hear the rain cascading down.

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine. Make yourself at home." She couldn't, not when she was dripping wet. She didn't want to dirty any of his impeccable furniture. She lingered near the doorway, her shoes remaining on the doormat.

She had just taken them off when when he saw his head peeking over the corner, before walking to her, beckoning her to him at the same time.

She couldn't obey him, could only remain standing there with wet socks, wet shirt, wet hair, everything wet, actually.

He handed one towel to her, the smaller one. She immediately laid it on her hair, scrubbing the tresses dry.

The other, he flipped open, stood in front of her, and half embraced, half draped it over her shoulder. Immediately, warmth came in, and fuzziness, so fuzzy the towel...

She felt a bit ashamed coming here again, without an umbrella, hell, without even a coat.

With one hand remaining on her shoulder, he ushered her further into his house. She could only led herself be led.

"Sorry." She truly felt sorry, and wanted to apologize for making such a mess, and likely disturbing him from one of his – few – free days .

Yet, he only smiled brightly at her, that reassuring smile that brought warm feelings to her, warming her up instantly, and making her stomach move inwardly, though not uncomfortably. He deposited her on the couch.

She saw an opened magazine on the table in front of her. She _had _caught him doing something to relax...

He frowned a bit, gazing her up and down. It took a lot of inner strength to not meet his glance. She would do or say something funny, then, and embarrass herself even more.

He left her alone again, but swiftly returned with a bundle of neatly folded clothes. He wanted to hand it to her. She held up her hands, a bit difficult when she was all bundled up.

"No, take it, I don't mind,"

"You sure?" She couldn't help but sound a bit disbelieving, and so unsure of herself – and why was she unsure in front of him, he was her partner! He only nodded.

His gaze remained at her. "Ehr, you can change in my room if you want." She didn't want to wet his things even more. She only shook her head, shrugged the fuzzy towel off and began undressing herself – very difficult, though, with everything plastered on her skin.

His eyes widened, before he resolutely turned his back towards her. She didn't know why, but she felt hurt, betrayed, rejected... Yes, she wasn't very proud or smug about her body, but her body was shaped by hours of training.

"Eh...do you want some tea, or something else warm? I think I have some soup somewhere...instant, though, nothing fancy."

"Nah, tea's fine, thank you." The T-shirt over her head muffled her voice. She saw him nodding and almost jogging away to the kitchen.

Such a strange man he could be. It made her smile again. So concerned about her and attentive, yet mingled this shyness and indecisiveness.

Though only a T-shirt, the thick material warmed her instantly. And the sweatpants ended a bit over her ankles, almost touching the ground. She smiled again how their heights were almost familiar.

She wondered again how he would look in that. Must be looking very good. He looked good in everything.

She wanted to trace his steps, but he likely needed some time alone. So, instead, she glanced around. A very neat house, though mostly impersonal, some things reminded her and screamed of him.

She wondered if his bedroom would show the same signs. She glanced at the door, only opened to a creak.

Pants dry now, she could sit down. Just in time to see him coming out with two big mugs, a tea bag in each of them. He sat hers down in front of her, within arm's reach. Before settling his down, he made a stop at the wall and turned the temperature up.

"Ah, you don't need to do..." She trailed off when he turned to her and smiled again. She could only smile back and sit back further in her seat, warming her hands on the mug.

He sat his own down and took a seat beside her. Though not close enough, not very far too.

A comfortable silence, yet very tense too.

She wondered how she should explain the thoughts, the emotions in her mind, why she had come here. What should she say, that she had thought about him and before she knew it she had left her apartment without any kind of protection for this horrible weather and walked here? This wasn't a humor show...

She took a small sip. The heat prickled her tongue, yet felt comfortable. She shivered a bit, even if the room slowly warmed.

She peeked at him. He focused in front of him, a small smile remaining on his lips.

"You're not going to ask?"

He leaned back in his seat and sipped his mug. He shrugged. "I will not if you don't want me to. Besides, there doesn't need to be a reason for a friend to visit another friend, right?"

A friend. She should be glad that he counted her as a friend. But sometimes not. Sometimes she wished he would use another word. This time included.

She tasted the tea again – licorice tea, her favorite. She couldn't remain silent, not matter how much she wanted to. She owed him an answer, not in the least because she had disturbed his day, but for all the kindness he had showed her too, and consideration.

She laid her mug on the table and sat back, resting her elbow on the armrest and resting her head on it.

"I dunno what has happened, but I just felt like coming here..."

He only nodded and sipped his mug. She shrugged. She now didn't feel so comfortable anymore.

"Have you dined yet?"

"What?"

"I'm just reminded that it's almost dinner time. I haven't dined yet, have you?" She hadn't. She hadn't even lunched, hadn't even breakfasted. She couldn't eat anything. Her stomach would lurch and she would waste it all, throwing everything up.

She shook her head. He smiled again and stood.

"Okay then. Let's have some dinner." He beckoned for her to follow him to the small kitchen. He rummaged a bit in the refrigerator. Though not very well stocked, at least far better than hers. At once he reminded her again of their lives, how it would never be normal, not truly.

"I'm afraid there isn't much choice. Would you rather have..." He rummaged a bit. "pancakes or omelets?"

"I don't mind, you choose." He peeked at her. She only shrugged. "Okay, omelets, then." He put the necessary ingredients atop the fridge.

"Can I help?"

"Nah...well, you can. You can sit there." She rolled her eyes at his attempted joke, but she realized he meant it. She chose a chair that gave her perfect view on the kitchen. She watched him work efficiently, with a smile – so many times a smile plastered to his face. He would always be a far better cook than herself. She usually ordered take out, or let others cook for her.

She wondered if he knew about that fact, thus cooking for her.

Time went by fast. That was a first, today. She relaxed too and sat back in the seat. Watching him work had this effect on her, feeling relieved. Perhaps coming here had been a good idea...

He set the plates in front of her. She noticed how he'd given her a slightly bigger portion than his own. Hers had tiny bits of more ingredients mixed in the eggs too.

She wanted to protest, but he held a hand up. She gave up – she would never win when he would show _that _gesture – and watched him eat. She decided to follow him, after a moment's consideration. This time, her stomach didn't churn.

"Oh wait." She glanced up, just in time to see him walking back to the living room. He fiddled with something she couldn't see from this vantage point. A moment later, music coursed through the room.

Soft music, Mexican music. Though she couldn't understand one word of it, she had been long enough in his company to recognize the country he almost had an obsession with.

He smiled at her as he took the seat across her.

"Dinner's not ready without some Mexican music."

"You and your Mexican music..."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with Mexico!" She rolled her eyes overdramatically. He chuckled as he took a very healthy bite from his omelet.

Only music sounded through the room, and the cutlery brushing against the plate.

This time, she wouldn't just sit on her lazy ass and watch him do everything. She stood and grabbed the plates before he could grasp his.

He was about to open his mouth, but she only stared at him. He closed his mouth and held his hands up, though a soft smile remained on his face. She was reminded once again how often he showed it to her. She liked that smile.

She filled the sink with water, mixing it with cold water when it had become too hot. She heard him standing and walking towards her. She could see him leaning on the counter, resting both hands on either side of him.

She didn't mind him staring at her – likely with another one of his special, comforting, so perfect smile. But she feared he would see that something was bordering her, and would prod her for answers.

She didn't know which one she should be more shocked at. She squeezed a healthy amount of dish soap and mixed it with the water with her hands.

She was in the middle of cleaning his plate, when he spoke. "I like this." She stopped scrubbing the plate and glanced at him.

He motioned around him. "We should do this more often."

"You want to meet even when we're not paired together?"

He shrugged. "These are two entirely different things." Not to her, but she just couldn't tell that to him. She didn't want to admit it, not even to herself, but she liked it too. Though his cooking wouldn't be worth mentioning in certain groups, at least his would be far more edible than she could ever cook – and to her, everything he did would be special and far better in comparison to everybody else. And his presence, it just did something to her.

She carefully laid the last of the cutlery on the counter and watched the water swirling away.

She glanced at him, him not having moved one inch the entire time. She felt once again she owed him something, but she wanted to tell it too – for a change. At least a small part of her. A very small part.

"Thank you." She immediately ducked her face and searched for a towel.

"It's okay. I like cooking, especially for someone else." He hadn't moved. She could only take the few steps to the right and lean towards him to grab the plates. She didn't know how to continue. She didn't mean that. Well, a part of her was glad that he had cooked for her, and she was very thankful for it, but she meant something else.

A hand rested on her biceps, and he squeezed comfortably. She glanced up, his face so close to hers now, him showing that soft, gentle smile.

"Coulson-"

"I know." He pivoted his body towards him and his other hand rested on her shoulder. She smiled, and if that was possible, his smile turned even more radiant.

"Now, let me help you. If you continue on this slow pace, I'll fall asleep on the spot." He chuckled as she slapped him on the chest with the towel. Their chuckles mingled.

Yes, she felt far more better now. Even if this would be only temporary, it was totally worth coming here. Perhaps she would even accept his offer and come here more often...

Yeah, she would definitely consider that.


End file.
